Before Baker Street
by A Girl Named Logan
Summary: Sherlock's adventures somewhere in his early 20s. He finds himself caring about a young girl and accidentally decides she's a life worth saving.
1. Chapter 1

**Trying to envision Sherlock's adventures before we pick up the story with John in Baker St. How does he become a consulting detective? Does he have a companion? What is his younger self like? Total AU, although I've actually somewhat planned this, even got notes for a sequel going! I'd love if you could review and interject your own theories. I'm really trying to avoid drug use though, so it might not fall completely into the canon. **

**Lots of love, Logan.**

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Hazel waited patiently in her attic bedroom window for the strange man who lived in the basement room to come home. It was very late, and she knew she'd suffer for it at school tomorrow, but she really couldn't sleep until he was home.

She cared about him, deeply. Even though they'd barely exchanged a polite nod, she knew she needed him to be safe. How old was he? Under twenty five, for certain. He could look after himself, that much was obvious. But she liked knowing her strange extended family had all made it home that night. She hadn't yet forgiven herself for not bothering the night the girl in the ground floor room hadn't come home.

Shuddering, she wrapped her duvet around her to fend off the drafts coming through the rotten window frame and continued waiting. Eventually, somewhere around 3am, a cab pulled up across the street from their terraced house. She wondered, if he could afford cabs, why did he live here? The man stepped forwards and glanced his eyes up at Hazel's dormer window, and they briefly met hers. She flicked off the light and lay down, embarrassed, even though this was their nightly routine.

She prepared to settle down to sleep when she heard the front door creak, and she felt herself relax for the first time that night. But then... something wasn't right. The basement door was meant to creak, and then she'd hear his light footsteps as he descended. He was coming...up. Of course, he could just be using the bathroom, the only one being on the first floor, but the plumbing was noisy and he always tried to be so quiet.

He paused as he negotiated the narrow, steep spiral staircase that led to Hazel's room. He hadn't turned a light on, and it could be treacherous at the best of times. But then his footsteps restarted, and she felt the breeze of her door opening. Hazel lay with her eyes glued shut, feigning sleep. He spoke, the first time she'd heard his voice.

"If I don't come home, who will you tell?"

"You're the only person who has an inkling of where I live and what I do."

"Is this caring? Is this what this... whatever this... is?"

He stepped further into the room, gently closing the door. She tensed as she felt him moving towards her bed – just a bare mattress on the floor. She felt his light breathing as he crouched next to her.

"Well?" he breathed into her ear, and she felt a strange tingle.

"I... I don't even know your name..." Hazel stammered in response.

"No. But I know yours. I know everything about you. Well, almost everything."

She shook as the man brushed his long fingers down her face. Oh God. This was it. He was going to rape her, murder her, hide her body. She gasped.

"Hazel Naomi McKenzie, 16. You came here with your brother after your parents left you. He's an alcoholic, sharing the large bedroom on the first floor with a different girl... or boy... every other night. You have nothing. Nothing to lose and no one to miss you."

He pulled the covers back and she squirmed into the corner, silent tears falling. She heard him suppress a laugh. He was going to enjoy torturing her.

"Come with me. Come away with me. Now."

"What?"

She received no further response as he took her hand, almost wrenching her from the bed. He pulled her across the room and, ever so carefully, guided her down the stair case and into the hall. As they went down the stairs and reached the door, he bundled her into his side against the chilly wind. Hazel wore nothing but her old pyjamas in contrast to his long woollen coat.

They turned right out the door, and then right again into the back alley way. It was dingy and smelled of piss, and Hazel knew her brother and some of the other residents got up to more than just smoking back here. They ducked down another alley, and she was resisting less now. There was a strange thrill mixed with her fear. Where were they going?

"In here!" the man yelled, pushing Hazel head first through a broken garden fence.

He used his shoulder to smash the kitchen window, and Hazel assumed it must be an empty house, probably up for sale or let. Judging by the condition of the yard, this part of town was even more run down than where they lived. A broken window probably wouldn't be much of a deal to the neighbours.

The man climbed in through the broken glass and then turned to Hazel, a strange wanting in his frosty blue eyes. In a seamless movement he'd gathered her under her arms and hauled her small frame through the window. They'd both received their fair share of cuts, though it was too dark to really see.

The house only had two rooms downstairs, and probably the same upstairs. The tiny kitchen was of no use to anyone as all but the water pipes and taps had been ripped out. The lounge was slightly larger, though the floor was bare. Conveniently, there was an old torn up sofa sitting in the middle of the room and Hazel made her way to it, disregarding how obviously filthy it was. The man still had some standards though, disrobing his coat and covering the length of the sofa with it, so they could sit at least somewhat comfortably.

The summer dawn was barely breaking and Hazel guessed it was closer to 4am now. She could just make out the man's features in the grey light. It was the first time she'd seen him up close.

He had a mop of dark curls atop his head, which spilled down to his shoulders. He was, rather oddly for this time of night, clean shaven, with a cutting jaw line and sharp cheek bones. His eyes pierced hers as she surveyed him. He was well dressed, which didn't surprise her. He always seemed to be glad in some suit or the other. The tailoring was expensive.

"I don't even know your name..." Hazel started.

"And you don't need too. At least, not yet," he had a deep baritone voice, laced with secrets and intelligence.

They sat silently together, for what seemed to Hazel like hours. As the room became lighter, she examined her hands and arms, tracing the little cuts she'd received from climbing in the broken window.

The man had sat motionless all this time, his hands pressed together under his chin and his eyes barely open.

"Scott," he said suddenly, ripping her from her thoughts, "you can call me Scott."

"That's not your real name..." she was wary, but not nervous, he could tell.

"It's one of them," he said shortly, cracking his eye at her.

He felt her curl in on herself, both physically and mentally. She pressed her knees to her chest and tucked her chin in. She'd closed up her emotional walls, and he found it difficult to read her. He attempted a conclusion, a sort of stab at reassurance.

"I'm not here to harm you," he said gently.

She shot him a scorned look of disbelief. It was earned, really.

"You're free to leave – "

"I can't leave though, can I?"

"Well you're not bound by anything, you know the way, I won't stop you."

"No, I mean I can't."

"Oh... I was right," she nodded, "you care. Why do you care?"

"You're different... to the others there."

"A life not worth losing," he cackled.

Her face showed her hurt.

"I'm sorry – "

"No, I know what you mean. You're not a drunk, or a druggy and you're always out like you have some... purpose."

"You have a purpose."

"Not really. I finish school next month and then... nothing. I can't afford the bus fare to college, I'll be stuck. Get a job in a call centre if I'm lucky..."

Scott felt almost compelled into hugging the young girl, though affection wasn't really his thing.

"Is this dangerous?" she asked him finally.

"Relatively," he said simply, shrugging.

Hazel sighed and leaned back against the filthy couch, to Scott's disgust. "And what is it we're doing?"

Suddenly a crash, like an explosion, blasted away the front window. Scott recognised it as being a little distant. The source wasn't in their immediate area. The force sent the sofa toppling backwards, sending both occupants with it. Scott reached out to Hazel, pulling her in close and shielding her from the torrent of glass which rained over them

"This. This is what we're doing!" he yelled, despite their close proximity.

"What the bloody hell?!" Hazel cried, clinging to Scott.

"Gas leak! Or at least, made to look like a gas leak!"

She looked at him, real worry and fear swelling in her eyes as he hopped towards the shattered window. She stood tentatively, easing her way through the rubble to stand by his side.

"That's... that's... our house."

"Was our house, technically speaking."

"Was this y-you? Did you do this? My brother. Oh god, my brother!"

Through a gap in the surrounding houses, they could clearly see the smoke billowing from the shell of their old terrace block. The whole row had gone up. Everything had been shattered.

Hazel flailed away from Scott as he wound his arm around her waist. She shot a punch which he deftly avoided.

"Calm down," h said flatly.

"Calm! Calm! You just murdered my brother, and all those other people!" she was screaming now, tears hurtling down her face.

"For starters no, I didn't, and secondly, would you rather I left you in there to suffer the same fate."

"If you got me out, why couldn't you get everybody out?!"

"Too suspicious, whoever did this can't know I know."

"How did you know it was happening? I don't understand!"

"Well no, you wouldn't. Come on, there'll be police here soon. Can't be hanging around..."

"But... what now? Why me?"

"There's no time, we have to go. I'll explain later."

"No, Scott, or whoever you are, tell me why my brother is dead!"

"You're dead too, technically. They'll find his girlfriend's charred bones in his room and assume it's you."

"But why am I not _actually _dead?!" the tears were streaming silently down her face.

"Because sometimes, I can care too."

His answer was blunt and took her by surprise. Emotions swirled around her, making her dizzy and confused. From thinking him a murderer to realising her saved her, it was all too much.

"My real name is Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes, and this is what I do."

"Save little girls from burning buildings like some sort of hero?"

"No, you were an... accident. I find the people who cause them in the first place. And right now –" he took her trembling hand and began to lead her towards the kitchen window, "the game is on."


	2. Chapter 2

They each hauled themselves through the window and ducked under the broken fence, just as they had done a few hours ago. It was still very early, probably coming up to six, Hazel judged by the light level, so there were very few people around to see her in her pyjamas.

"Where are we going?" Hazel squeaked nervously, jogging a few paces to keep up with Sco – Sherlock's long strides.

"Home," he said bluntly.

He stopped on a corner and seemed to sniff the air, before crossing the street and heading left. Hazel followed him unquestioningly, which he approved of. Silence helped him think.

As they approached the main road, which couldn't really be avoided, Sherlock took to bounding down alley ways again, to avoid being seen. Hazel huffed, disgruntled. Her school shoes were thin flats and offered no support against the cobbles. She was bound to twist an ankle at some point.

"We're dead and you're in your jammies," Sherlock remind her as they waited for people to clear off at the next crossing.

He had a point, and she understood. Well, mostly understood. She was still reeling from the shock and confusion, and she was disheartened by her own willingness to follow this strange man wherever he was going. But she had nothing and no one, heck, the only thing she'd have come the ten o'clock news would be her pjs and a death certificate. She gulped back her tears and Sherlock gave her an irritated look, but he quickly wiped it off his face, aware, for once, that this was a pretty delicate situation.

"Come on, it's not far now," he attempted a gentle tone, and she appreciated the effort.

Hazel noticed they had passed into the Hammersmith area and was more and more bemused by Sherlock. Hammersmith was pricey, where as their old, now shredded house was just a slum in the centre nobody had really given a name too.

They headed into another alley, and Sherlock began jumping at each garden gate. It was quite the spectacle. When he'd apparently found the right one, Hazel was sure she heard him let out a little giggle of delight. Sherlock took a running jump and heaved himself onto the garden wall, straddling it with his long legs and then disappeared down the other side. A few seconds later, the gate swung open. Sherlock took a dramatic bow and gestured Hazel to come in.

"Here," Sherlock said, moving to a semi-sunken window on the ground floor.

He fiddled with the edges of the frame for a few moments before suddenly, _pop_, the frame came right out of the brick work. He slipped himself into the frame and Hazel followed, and then found herself in a pleasantly decorated and larger than expected dining kitchen. Sherlock pointed to a chair across from them, where she could see a blonde head just peaking over the top. He pressed a finger to his lips and then counted down from three on his hands.

"You're late, little brother," called a voice from the chair.

"And?" Sherlock stepped towards him.

"And you're late, I have nothing else to say to you."

"Nope, I'm definitely something else," Sherlock demanded sarcastically. He flicked on the telly and the news headline rolled.

The man in the chair sighed.

"I was right," Sherlock said, depositing the remote control with a thunk in the blonde man's lap.

The chair sighed again and went back to reading his paper. Sherlock turned back to Hazel and pointed in the direction of the hallway, and then noisily got himself a glass of water to cover her footsteps, before following. He pressed lightly into the small of her back to guide her into a room to the right of the hall, which Hazel figured was the furthest from the main room they had just left. Sherlock shut the door behind them and smiled smugly.

The walls of the room were a dark blue tribal pattern and the carpet was a thick, fluffy grey. The bed was large and pressed between both side walls right on the back, with all three wall edges adorned with pillows. The sheets were a silky pale blue, and there was a walk-in closet and bathroom to the right of the door. It faced the front of the house, and under the window was a desk, covered in scraps of paper and random science equipment.

"Have a sleep," Sherlock whispered softly, running a comforting hand down her arm. He was pleased the action worked. "We'll talk later, when he's gone."

Hazel did as he asked and settled herself into the plush bed. The sheets smelled fresh and clean and so soft she could have sworn they were brand new. Sherlock smiled as she tucked herself in, almost entirely buried in the soft duvet. He was pleased with himself, for reaching out to her. She hadn't gone all teen-girl emotional as he'd worried. He was definitely right about her.

Sherlock took a refreshing shower, glad to wash the day's grime away. He was somewhat frustrated his brother, Mycroft, had hung around longer than usual after breakfast. He'd really wanted an empty house when he'd brought Hazel home. The man had obviously been _worried_ about his younger brother. Sherlock shuddered at the thought.

He slipped a silk robe around himself after towelling off, and decided to take the unusual precaution of some matching boxer shorts, considering the young lady in the bedroom. Hazel was soundly asleep when Sherlock came out of the bathroom, although her brows were furrowed, as if stressed. It would be suspicious for him to check if Mycroft had left – even more so, on the pretence of gathering food – so he sat himself in the opposite corner from Hazel, against one of the pillow walls, and attempted to allow himself a nap. Though there was something not exactly fair about being pushed out of his own bed.

He retreated to his mind palace, analysing the events, trying to deduce the bomber.

And somehow awoke with his face pressed against something soft, feeling the comforting weight of the duvet and breathing in a sweet scent. His eyes broke open and he found himself just inches from Hazel, his face almost smothered in her long hair. He had a horrible sense of realisation that Hazel must have covered him with the duvet. How humiliating. He internalised a groan.

"Morning," Hazel chirped upon seeing Sherlock's open eyes.

He moved to sit up and put some platonic distance between their bodies as he stretched.

"How long did I sleep?" he asked, making the effort casual.

"I've been up an hour..." she nodded at the clock on the desk, "and you were asleep against the wall then."

"So you tucked me in, one might say."

She nodded, "It seemed the right thing to do.

He smiled softly, hoping she'd see it as gratitude. There was that thing again. That instinct of care the youngster radiated.

"Help yourself to the bathroom. I have some errands to run. I'll come back with some sustenance, and I'd rather you didn't leave this room," he added the latter gently.

She crawled out of the bed and Sherlock faked busying himself with gathering some clothes from the closet to get a good look at her frame. Taking measurements. He clocked what he needed and slipped himself into a shirt and trousers as soon as she clicked the bathroom door shut. He noted the fact she didn't lock it.

Sherlock took the front door, locking it and having to bite back the urge to check its security. The neighbourhood was quiet, largely populated by post graduate couples just getting their finances together. The housing comprised mostly of four storey terraced houses, some of which split into four flats, some into two, and others just very large houses. It was affordable, but well maintained. And discreet, very discreet. Just what the Holmes brothers ordered.

He headed to the local supermarket, where he gathered a basket of supplies. Simple things like long-life milk, Weetabix, canned soup and packets of crisps. Things that could be easily hidden in his closet so Mycroft wouldn't suspect they had a third house guest. The second part of his venture was more difficult – choosing clothing for Hazel.

That was why he'd needed measurements. He started with trousers: two pairs of size eight jeans, one pair of leggings and some smart grey pants. And for tops, size ten, because she liked it loose, he went with simple and discreet. Pastel colours seemed "in" this spring so it was easy to pick up a week's worth of easy t-shirts and a smart blouse, lilac with a print of tiny birds in white. He also found a cardigan, blue and cream striped, and a more substantial coat in the sale from winter. For pyjamas, he took a shorts set in pale pink with a Disney donkey on the front, and a flannel dressing gown. He picked up a simple seven pack of plain white socks and similar knickers, and then came the real hurdle.

Bras.

He stood at the edge of the aisle, and just gaped. The was no innocent way a grown man could buy a bra. She would just have to go without. Her young chest wasn't exactly bouncy, anyway.

Finally, Sherlock picked up a pair of plain navy baseball shoes and some black ankle boots. It was hardly a typical teenage wardrobe, but it would certainly tide her over. He made a note to send her shopping for "essentials" when he was confident she wouldn't try to run away or go to the police. There were other feminine things the teen would need within the month. He grimaced. He had to share a bed with _that_.

He stopped suddenly as he walked out of the store.

Good Lord, he had to share a _bed_.

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**Hello, lovely people. **

**I had some uploading issues earlier this week where I had to basically tack this chapter onto the end of the first chapter. Chapter 3 is currently under revision and should be up in a few hours!**

**Hope everyone has had a lovely Easter weekend. **

**I know people are reading this and I would love to hear your thoughts, just click that review button :3**

**Cheers, Logan. **


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